my mother says that my mind is wrong.
she says that i call myself by the wrong name,
she says that i
i should love my body-
the one that she made,
the one she looks at and
the one she tacks on the label of "girl"she says that
im too difficult to understand
that my friends
mutilated me-
they tore at my body,
like vultures on a carcass.she says the fire i start on the stove
is where i should
make a home-
start a family-
wipe the tables-
but
but she looks at me and she
doesn't see me
she says i'm confused.my mother sat me down on the couch
and she said
you, my daughter in christ,
cannot be yourself,
for i do not understand,
the way the coyotes bow and the way
the hawks cry,
and i do not understand, why
your home is on a horse,
with a dog, and
someone you cared about.-icarus
YOU ARE READING
an idiots guide to life; how to survive the badlands of wyoming
Poetrythe slightly deranged ramblings of a teenage trans guy living in wyoming there's no overarching theme but there sure is a lot of dogs, horses, and god(s) . i do not know what i am talking about 97% of the time mostly posted chronologically in order...